


Atlas: Year One

by CoelacanthKing



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Self-Tattooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 21:59:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5514797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoelacanthKing/pseuds/CoelacanthKing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Toast continues Miss Giddy's work, Nux may or may not know who you are, and Furiosa's up for a promotion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Atlas: Year One

**Author's Note:**

> A small gift for unseendreamxrs on Tumblr for the Mad Mad Secret Santa gift exchange. Shorter than what I'm used to writing by far, but it's a sweet fic that I hope you'll all enjoy. I may or may not have had Sleeping At Last on repeat as I was writing this, hence the title. I'm also too much of a scientist to write normal fics.

“These tunnels are so long… It’s a wonder the War Boys don’t get lost getting from A to B.”

“It’s not so complicated,” Toast confessed, pausing to hitch the basket higher onto her back. “The paths spiral down when you keep to the left. You wanna go higher? Go right.”

Cheedo frowned. “But what if it splits three ways? It happens, I know it does.”

“Middle paths are chambers.”

The taller girl was about to interject when a trio of War Boys came loping around the corner, skidding to a halt and pushing themselves to the side of the path upon spying the two girls. Cheedo, still unused to the sight of the dusty-skinned men at so close a proximity, squeaked and popped behind Toast for protection. Which did little good, given that Toast was a head shorter than her.

“Evenin’, fellas,” Toast crowed. The Boys nodded in respect, smiles tugging at the corners of their lips. They liked her, the little one who spat and fancied guns and ink. “Make sure you show up for supper, we just pulled some good kale.” She jostled the basket on her back for emphasis.

“Yes ma’am, thank you ma’am.”

The Boys gave them the widest berth they could manage in the closeness of the tunnel, bowing their heads as they passed and continued whatever errand they were on. Toast pressed on, and Cheedo scurried after her.

“They respect us now… Isn’t that strange, Toast?”

“Sort of. Not all of them do. But Furiosa’s a strong leader, and we stand with her. Makes sense, with all the good she’s brought about.”

A slatted metal door stood in their way, and Toast yanked at the rope that allowed it to slide up against the ceiling on a track, letting in the last light of the day and the scent of stale, sandy air. A short path carved into the side of the stone monolith lead to a suspension bridge of cable and metal, and as they crossed, taking dainty, tentative steps, the girls could see part of the labor of Furiosa’s work.

At the Citadel’s base, small huts and shanties had begun to sprout from the desert floor. Structures of mud and sheet metal and canvas, these had been constructed by the Wretched with the aid of Furiosa and her supporters. A new food distribution program had been implemented, and the sight of smoke rising from several scattered cooking fires suggested that the food rations had been delivered. But Furiosa was a hard woman, and she asked for a lot in exchange. The word of Joe’s demise had no doubt spread all across the Big Nothing by now, and while a tentative peace with Gastown and the Bullet Farm had been reached, raiders and Buzzards were still a hazard. And so the Militia had been formed.

“Anyone who can stand sturdy on their own two feet,” Furiosa had announced, “and hold a gun or swing a club is advised to join the Militia. It’s not us and them anymore. We’re a community.”

A surprising amount of Wretched had leapt at the chance to join. Not just the ones who had family down below, wanting to bring back a little something extra every night. The chance to be productive and part of something larger was an opportunity that many people yearned for, something they had no hope of ever achieving during the Immortan’s time.

Indeed, it was almost shocking how quickly the Citadel as a whole had left the memory of Joe behind, shrugging him away like a ratty shawl off a dirty back. But for some, he was like an open wound that was slow to heal. He’d never truly disappear, he’d left his mark on this place for too long. The War Boys were still staunch practitioners of the cult of V8, but they were allowed that small comfort. To them, Joe had simply left them in Furiosa’s capable hands and had joined the legions of the faithful in Valhalla. Some of them were still wary of the woman who had caused the Immortan so much grief, but others saw those few days on the Fury Road as a test of her skill, to see if she was worthy to manage the responsibilities of leading and keeping alive a whole community of Wastelanders.

The finer points of faith and politics were lost on Cheedo and Toast, however, as they stepped off the rickety bridge and onto a ledge on the next pillar over. A woman was on guard duty in front of the double doors, a rifle against her chest and a bandanna over her mouth that didn’t quite cover all of her sores and lumps. Her eyes smiled at the girls, and she made a move to open the doors for them as they approached. Cheedo invited her to dinner, like Toast had done with the War Boys in the tunnels. The woman shrugged. “I may. I got tykes who wanna see their mum. Thanks for the offer, though.”

They dropped down a level to deliver their load of greens to the kitchens, then steeled themselves for the trek up to the top to the spire. The sisters shared a chamber across from Furiosa’s quarters at the very top; down the hall was the council room where leaders of the Militia and the Citadel’s newly reformed council met for meetings. These rooms, along with the rooms of other elected officials and honored guests, were known as the Apartments.

Cheedo was careful when opening the door to their space; Capable had been keeping vigil all day and was most likely jumpy or sleeping. Indeed, the redhead had nodded off in the chair that stood at the side of her bed, arms crossed, hair unbraided and shadowing her face like a fiery aura.

Toast had no such compunctions about being quiet. “Hey, Brainy.” Capable blinked awake at the nickname, face hidden behind her scarf, eyes drowsy. “Meal’s in ten… How’s he doing?”

Capable turned her focus to the shape that huddled under the sheets. “Mh. He was awake for a while… Said we should name Dag’s baby something fierce. Didn’t want to tell him that she’s gonna choose a Bible name.”

“He remembered her… Good day, then?”

“Good as any day.” Capable reached over and patted the form in her bed, murmuring, “I’ll be back soon. I’ll bring some food,” and a thin voice rose from the nest to put in its two cents.

“ _Wan’ a lizard. Don’t let Slit have any_.”

They let Capable’s patient sleep and closed the door behind them, walking the few feet across the hall and knocking gently at the door to Furiosa’s quarters. When there was no answer, Toast took the liberty to turn the knob and let them in.

The Citadel’s woman king wasn’t alone this evening. She and the War Boy patriarch leaned against the far wall together, their shapes and features made visible by the light of a single sputtering lamp in the corner. The end of their conversation was caught, and the implications of what they heard made the Sisters shiver.

“-in. Not saying it to make light, Boss. They’re really pushin’ to petition your Sainthood.”

“Ace, haven’t we talked about this? I’m not interested.”

“You may not have a say… Just bein’ honest.”

It was then that the girls were noticed standing at the door, and Furiosa and Ace’s posture turned rigid immediately. The woman’s voice was pleasant, but it was obvious she was irked by having been interrupted.

“Meal time? Good.” Turning to Ace, she clapped the man on the shoulder with her flesh hand. “Later tonight. We’ll talk then.”

The girls made way for Furiosa and Ace to come out into the hall, the latter giving them a crooked smile that only added to his charm. Ace made his way out of the Apartments, turning the corner to head down to the War Boy barracks, and the girls practically leapt on Furiosa with chatter, if not literally then verbally.

“Did I hear that right?” Capable squealed, “Sainthood? This is the first time I’ve heard it!”

“Ace is insistent,” Furiosa scowled.

The woman’s lack of enthusiasm was a shock to them. Toast leaned away, one eyebrow raised quizzically. “You’re gonna do it? Or not?”

“I’m not a spiritual leader. I’m a rig driver.”

The finality of her words would have put an end to the talk right there, if Cheedo hadn’t scooted up to her with intent in her eyes. As much intent as someone like her could muster, at least. “Furiosa… If you don’t want to, there may be someone else who can… Should, I mean.”

“Who?” Cheedo had to stand on the tips of her sandaled feet to reach Furiosa’s ear and whisper into it. The woman’s eyebrows raised, and she looked down at the girl with admiration and curiosity.

“Angharad? A saint?”

“Cheedo, you didn’t have to whisper,” Toast chided. “We all knew.” Cheedo twiddled her thumbs, and Capable bit her lip in contemplation.

“You know… It really could work. She was always so outspoken. She died so we could be free.”

“And in turn free the Citadel,” Toast concluded.

They all fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts of Angharad. The memory of her death wasn’t so fresh, but it still hurt to think of her all the same.

“Well,” Furiosa sighed. “If I can convince Ace, it’s worth a shot. You knew her better than I did, but I think I can give our girl what she deserves.”

\---

A small sandstorm had rolled in right after dinner, dying down almost immediately and leaving everything that wasn’t sealed up tight or sheltered covered in a fine layer of dust. Furiosa had left the Apartments to go check on the state of the cars in the garages, and Cheedo had escorted the very pregnant Dag up to the gardens to tend to the plants before it got too dark to see. That left Toast and Capable, and Capable was preoccupied with her patient, who had welcomed her return with a lucidity that surprised both of the girls. Excusing herself, Toast had taken her ink kit and let herself into Furiosa’s quarters, setting up a lamp and laying her tools out before she got to work.

It was tricky busines to get plant oil and soot and water to mix into a viscosity that resembled ink, but Toast was a master at improvisation. She played alchemist for a better part of twenty minutes, mixing and diluting a concoction in a chipped china cup until she was happy with it. A clear moonshine, gifted to her by the War Boys who had brewed it, was poured from a small flask and into a shallow pan, and with this Toast sanitized her needles. These had been Miss Giddy’s needles, and were the first thing Toast had retrieved from their former prison on their return to the Citadel.

The mirror was positioned, and before she began her work Toast took a moment to preen, admiring the block of text that was printed below her lower lip. It had been the first entry that she’d ever attempted, and it had come out better than she had hoped given her shaky hand.

_DAY 12114-12118_  
_FALL OF THE_  
_IMMORTAN JOE_  
_ON THE FURY ROAD_  
_BY FURIOSA OF_  
_SWADDLEDOG_

This evening Toast continued a segment of words on her upper arm about evolution. It never hurt as much as she expected. The sting had become a side effect of her work, a welcome buzz as she took up the mantle that had been unjustly taken away from Miss Giddy. With an old textbook open on her lap, cross-legged on Furiosa’s cot, Toast slowly pressed the words that seemed significant down into her skin, every letter as small but as legible as she could manage.

_THEROPODA- >AVES | ARTIODACTYLA->CETACEA | ?->CHIROPTERA | MIACIDAE->CANIS FELIS URSUS_

The line had just been completed when the door was knocked softly, once, twice. Furiosa entered, shutting the door carefully behind her.

“Sorry. Didn’t want you to mess up.”

“You’re fine.” Toast studied the woman closely, furrowing her brow. “Everything okay?”

Furiosa got right to the point. She tossed what looked to be a rag onto the cot beside Toast, crossing her arms as it was picked up and examined.

“I keep finding those in the garages. On my way back up I saw one painted on part of a wall… Do you know who’s been doing this?”

Toast could hardly believe what she was seeing. What she has assumed was a rag was actually a small banner, a rectangle of cloth that seemed to be meant to hang vertically. In stark black print, too neat to have been made by anything other than a stencil, was the facsimile of an open hand. The palm was a single five-sided shape, while the individual digits of each of the five fingers consisted of smaller rectangles, the only exception being the thumb that ended in a blunt spike.

The reference couldn’t have been more obvious if it had slugged you in the face.

“Well… It looks like you’ve got fans.” She handed the banner back to Furiosa, smiling. “I don’t know who’s making these, sorry. I’ll finish up this line and get out of your space soon, I don’t wanna be a bother.”

Furiosa sighed with her whole body, shoulders sagging in a diagonal line with the weight of her false arm, face tilted up towards the ceiling.

“No worries. Gonna go talk to Ace about Angharad, maybe get him drunk enough to write up a clause or something…”

She started for the door, swung it open, and was halfway through when Toast stopped her. “Furiosa.” The woman turned at her name, curious. Toast gave her the kindest smile she could muster. “You’re doing good work.”

Furiosa was silent, her gaze turned down to the floor. Some smaller mechanism in her arm clicked, and the space was silent for a long moment. Furiosa then turned away, careful to not let the door slam, and Toast dropped her used needle into the pan, fishing out a clean one and starting on her next line.


End file.
